“Especially if you want it, Skye. I will not put you in danger. What if you had a fetish of being thrown in front of a moving vehicle. Do you want me to indulge that?”
I resist rolling my eyes. It won’t go over well. “It’s different, and you know it.”
“Is it?”
“Of course it is. I don’t want to harm myself.”
“What do you want, then?”
“To—”
I stop abruptly, my mouth hanging open.
I drop my gaze to Braden’s bed, and I smooth out a wrinkle on his navy comforter.
He’s going to push me. He’s going to insist that I answer. And the truth is…
I don’t know the answer.
I mean, I know the answer that’s the frosting on the cake. I want to lose control. I want to lose myself, especially now when I’ve already lost so much of my life. My job. My best friend. The contract with New England Adventures.
And now…Braden.
But that’s a surface answer, and Braden knows it.
He wants the real answer. The deep answer. Not just the cake beneath the frosting but the filling, too.
And honestly?
I’m not sure I’m ready to face the real answer.
Chapter Two
“I want to…find myself?”
Damn. Already I berate myself for adding inflection to my response. He’ll know I’m not sure of my answer, and he’ll call me out.
“Really?” he says, doubt lacing his tone.
I inhale a deep breath, drawing as much courage as I can muster—which isn’t a lot at this point. See? When you lose so much, you lose your courage as well.
“To challenge myself,” I say, keeping my tone as even as I can.
“And you think me choking you will challenge you?”
His tone isn’t mocking, but his words are. I choose to take him at face value. And at face value, his question is valid.
He deserves an answer, a truthful one.
“Honestly? I don’t know. All I know is that I saw it in the scene, and I wanted it.”
“And do you still want it now?”
I could lie to him. Tell him I’m over it. Anything to keep him in my life. But I love him too much to lie. He’ll know anyway.
“Y-Yes. I still want it now.”
“I see.”
He stands and paces across the deep red Turkish rug. He rakes his fingers through his already disheveled hair.
Fear slides through me. I already know we’re over, but as I watch him, look at him, see him, I realize how deeply I’ve fallen.
He’s beautiful, yes. His ass tight in those black pants, his broad and muscular shoulders apparent in his black button down. A masterpiece.
But I didn’t fall in love with his masculine beauty.
And he’s rich. So ungodly rich. I’ve dined in the best restaurants, sampled the finest wines, flown in a private jet, for God’s sake.
But I didn’t fall in love with his money or his things.
I fell in love with the man who volunteers at a food pantry when he could get by with writing a gigantic check.
I fell in love with the man who rescued two dogs—one for me.
I fell in love with the man who cut his business trip short because he couldn’t wait to get back to me.
I fell in love with Braden Black the man, not Braden Black the icon.
And I need to tell him.
“I love you, Braden.”
He turns, his eyes heavy-lidded and a little glazed over. “I love you too. I wish I didn’t, but I do.”
His words both warm me and cut me. He loves me. But he wishes he didn’t love me.
My lips tremble. “Then can’t we work this out?”
He shakes his head slowly. “No. Not when you can’t be honest with me.”
“But I—”
“Skye, you’re not. And what’s more, you know you’re not. Look inside yourself. Figure yourself out, because until you do, you’ll always yearn for something I can’t give you. And I’m not just talking about the neck bondage.”
…
He let me sleep in his bedroom. I don’t know where he slept. After I was all cried out, maybe I got some sleep. Truthfully, I don’t know.
I know only that I rose in the morning and accompanied Braden in silence to the airport. We boarded the jet, also in silence. Thank God it was a short flight. Christopher met us and dropped me off at my place. Braden, ever the gentleman, walked me to the door.
He touched my cheek lightly. “Goodbye, Skye.”
I nodded. No words got past the lump in my throat.
This all happened mere hours ago, and it feels like a lifetime.
I lie on my bed, unable to move.
Unable to—
I jerk upward. My contract. My damned contract!
I’m still under contract to create content for Susie Girl Cosmetics, and my last post sucked big-time.
No more tears. I’m all cried out. I run into the bathroom and—
Oh my God. I look like a hag. A red-eyed, swollen-faced, snot-nosed hag.
And I have to do an Instagram post today.
Three posts per week pursuant to my contract.